


Start Something

by let_it_out



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: BDSM, Dom!Clint Barton, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Kink Meme, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sub!Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/let_it_out/pseuds/let_it_out
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Phil have been together for a while before Clint even considers broaching the subject with Phil. He'll love Phil no matter what, of course he will, but Clint just can't get the idea of Phil submitting to him out of his head and maybe now's the time to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The plaintive sound of Phil sighing heavily for the _fifth_ time in an hour drifted across the room and into Clint's ears, tugging at his conscious until he gave into the temptation to turn away from the television. Clint knew that noise well enough. It was frustration. A sound torn from deep within Phil's lungs; the result of prolonged exposure to nonsensical mission reports and too few hours sleep.

He looked towards Phil, who was sat at the table near the kitchen; papers cluttered it in organized towers that threatened to engulf anyone but their creator who strayed into their shadows. Clint's fingers tapped a dull, muted rhythm against the neck of the bottle of beer he was holding. His gaze roamed over Phil, taking in the stiffness Phil held himself with as he persevered in demolishing the paperwork floor by floor. The tension in Phil's back and shoulders looked painful and it made Clint's fingers itch to allow his hands to be useful and relieve as much of Phil's physical burden as he could.

As Phil remained slumped over whatever report he just _had_ to get done, Clint observed in contemplative silence. One of Phil's hands came up to rub distractedly at his forehead, then around to the back of his neck for a few seconds before Phil shook his head and Clint heard a mumble that sounded suspiciously like it contained the word 'Stark'

Finally, Clint gave up on ignoring the little sounds of irritation and pushed himself to his feet. His bottle made a soft thud as he placed it on the coaster on the table next to the couch, before he crossed the room and gently laid his hand on Phil's shoulder. Clint waited for Phil to finish scribbling something in the margins of the page he was on, and to look up, before Clint used his thumb to rub small circles on Phil's back.

"Hey." Phil smiled at Clint. His eyes were rimmed with red and dark bags had started to form under them. Since Loki, Phil tried to work as hard as he always had, but things took more of a strain on him than his body was used to, even if he refused to admit that it was the case. Of late, Phil just looked far too drawn and tired for Clint's liking and it was definitely time for a change.

"Hey to you too," Clint said, leaning forward and gently resting his forehead on the top of Phil's head. His other hand came up to rub at Phil's shoulders as well. "I'm sure comparing our reports is absolutely thrilling," he murmured just loudly enough for them both to hear, his lips brushing against Phil's soft hair as he spoke, "but you look like you're about to fall off that chair. Consider at the very least coming over and curling up on the couch with me for an episode of something crappy to unwind before we go to bed?" He pressed a kiss to the top of Phil's head as he pulled back, but kept his hands moving and working out some of the tension from Phil's shoulders. The muscles in Phil's back, happy with the attention, started to unfurl their knots.

"But if I finish these last five, then I'll be all caught up on what I missed on my downtime."

"You mean the reports Nick tried to confiscate from you because you don't need to worry about them? Seriously, Phil, I know you want to know everything, control everything, but in depth analysis of our every move while you were in hospital is not going to provide you with any more information than you've acquired in the last six months of managing us. Thor and Bruce weren't even around for most of that time; the team dynamics were completely different."

Phil gave Clint an exasperated look before turning back to the report.

"Fine, fine. They are extremely important and I should never doubt you," Clint said and rolled his eyes knowing that Phil couldn't see. "But if you want the facts, you should just ask Pepper, Tony's told her everything a million times over and she knows how to filter his bullshit."

"It would be quicker," Phil replied and placed his pen down on the table and Clint removed his hands from Phil's shoulders as Phil cracked his neck with a loud pop.

Clint knew he'd won the second the pen hit the wooden surface and couldn't hold back a self-satisfied smile. He tugged at Phil's shoulder until Phil grudgingly stood up and let himself be turned around. Phil pressed his lips to Clint's and, looping his arms around Phil's waist, Clint pulled him in closer.

"Couch?" Clint asked as he pulled back, licking his lips to moisten them. Phil's eyes lingered on them as he did and they regained a spark of their normal brightness.

"If you insist," Phil conceded, even though they both knew the battle had been won by Clint the moment he'd touched Phil.

Settling himself down, Clint picked up his bottle once more and took a sip. Phil lay down so that his head rested in Clint's lap where Clint could scratch idly at Phil's head. This time, when Phil sighed, it was a happy, contented noise almost like a cat purring at being able to curl up in the sun. Clint passed him the remote and Phil perused the channels until he settled on something loud and mindless that Clint could probably name if he put his mind to it, but it was busy thinking of other things. His finger tapped out a random tattoo on the glass once more.

"What are you thinking?"

"Hmm?" Clint hummed questioningly as Phil's words broke his reverie; the noise soft even to his own ears. He blinked and shook his head as he tried to refocus his thoughts and, instead of staring unseeingly at the wall ahead, looked down at Phil. The comforting weight of Phil's head and his own rhythmic, subconscious movements that had turned into stroking through Phil's short hair had lulled him into his own headspace more than he realized.

"You're thinking. What about?" Phil repeated as Clint watched Phil's profile. Phil's lips formed the words precisely and his brow crinkled slightly at having to ask a second time or maybe just because he wondered what had captured Clint’s attention.

He deliberated on what to say. This wasn't as simple as just blurting out the thoughts that had been running rampant through his mind of late and hoping that everything would work out with no issues being raised. The past had taught him well enough that it wasn’t always that simple. Yet, at the same time, it was Phil. If there was one thing that Clint knew for certain about Phil it was that there was nothing Phil faced that fazed him for long. Phil wouldn't just cast him aside when he found out. Clint had to believe that.

Clint’s hand stilled for a moment. Then before he could even process what he was doing, he moved it again, abandoning Phil’s head and instead seeking out Phil’s free hand. Their fingers twined together in an easy, practiced movement until Clint’s arm was slung around Phil’s waist, their joined hands rising and falling steadily with each breath Phil took.

Licking his lips, Clint opened his mouth to speak and then paused.

"It doesn't matter," Phil said evenly, his gaze still resting on the flickering images coming from the other side of the room. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to." His grip tightened reassuringly on Clint's fingers and Clint automatically squeezed Phil's in return.

There was probably a book on this. How to tell your lover you want to dominate them 101 or something, but it wasn't really Clint's style. He’d always been more hands on with his learning. Books could only ever know so much, and didn’t always know what you wanted them to, not exactly. No book could tell him what he needed to know about how Phil would react. In fact, if anything or anyone was to know how Phil would react, it would be Clint and, when he thought about it, there was only one way to know for certain.

Clint took a deep breath, realizing for the first time just how rapid the beat of his finger against the bottle was. He stopped immediately.

"Do you trust me?" Clint asked after a moment’s pause which had probably felt like a lifetime to Phil given Clint’s normal lack of brain to mouth filter.

"With my life," Phil responded instantly. He still looked at the television, but he was now so still Clint listened and watched for a few seconds to be certain he was still breathing.

Clint took a sip of his beer; one that drained what was left in the bottle and he glared at it like the traitor it was.

"Would you trust me to look after you? No wait, that came out wrong."

Clint put the empty bottle down, closed his eyes and rubbed in frustration at his forehead. When he opened his eyes Phil was looking up at him questioningly. Waiting patiently and silently for Clint to explain himself, eyebrow raised. He may have looked away from the television at last, but his hand still held Clint's where they rested against Phil’s stomach.

"You've been stressed a lot lately," Clint started slowly, trying to weigh his words and not just blurt out something stupid again. "Not that that's the only reason I want to try this. It just sort of makes me want to try harder." He looked away from Phil's eyes that were boring holes into him with their intensity to look up at the stippled effect on the ceiling and tried not to count the dots.

The silence stretched out between them and for the first time Clint noticed that Phil must have turned the sound down or the television off completely to give Clint his full attention. "I don't like seeing you so worn out and I want to help. Not that you need me to look after you, I know you're perfectly capable of doing that, but I want to relieve some of your burden."

"How? It's not like you can just do my work for me." Phil's tone was more curious than accusatory and Clint looked back at him to find Phil looking at calm as ever.

"Nothing to do with work. Afterwards though. It wouldn't have to be anything full time. Or at all if you don't want to. I was just thinking maybe we could try something a little different. All you'd have to do would be to let me take control. I'm not pitching this so well," Clint said with a sigh. "It's not something I've really had to sell to someone before."

"Submitting sexually? Is that what you're talking about?" Phil still didn't look like he was about to run for the hills, but there was a slight crease between his eyes as though he was trying to parse something he couldn't quite grasp. Clint lifted his hand and rubbed gently at Phil's brow until it smoothed out again, Phil's eyes closing under his ministrations.

"Not necessarily and nothing you don't want. If it's a definite no, then just say so and I won't bring it up again. If not, then we can talk it all over. Maybe not tonight though. Sleeping on it might be best. You still look ready to drop."

"Can I ask a question first?"

"You just did," Clint joked weakly, "but sure, go ahead. Anything."

"Is this something you need?" Phil asked. His voice was gentle and inquisitive, as though in asking he would scare Clint away. As though he was worried _he_ was the one creating the waves in their relationship. "Is this something you need that I might not be able to give you?"

Pain lanced through Clint's chest at the words and he shook his head.

"No. It's something that I enjoy. It's definitely something I'm fond of, with the right person, but I promise you that if this is something you don't want I will not love you any less. I will not want anything other than what we have."

"Come here," Phil said, shifting and lifting his arm up so that when Clint leaned forwards Phil could pull him down closer and press their lips together - even if the angle was a little awkward. If Clint was a little more enthusiastic and desperate than normal neither of them mentioned it. When Clint finally pulled back, resting his lips against Phil's forehead, his eyes closed and breathing a little more rapid, Phil spoke again, "I love you, I'll love you no matter what. We'll talk this over this morning. This is something we can sort out so we're both getting what we want."

\---

During the night, Clint woke to the bright glare of Phil's StarkPad. It illuminated the room and cast white light over Phil’s features. Clint shut his eyes. The fluorescent screen burned Clint’s eyes in the darkness. He rolled over. Welcoming the gloom that occupied the other side of the room, Clint risked opening his eyes once more. The clock next to the bed proclaimed it just past three o’clock. Clint grumbled to himself intelligibly and Phil just muttered an apology as Clint allowed himself to fall back into his dreams.

When Clint's alarm went off, waking him for the second time, sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains and lit the room with a softer, natural glow. Phil had already gotten up. If it hadn't been for the fact Phil was rarely in bed when Clint rose for the day, Clint might have been worried. However, just because Phil had seemed fine with everything didn't mean that he was in reality.

On bare feet, Clint padded his way out of their bedroom and towards the kitchen. Phil was slumped over the table, his hair was ruffled and he was dressed in his dark blue robe that always had the side-effect of Clint wanting to burrow into it with Phil and ignore the rest of the world just for a little while. In Phil’s hand was clutched a steaming mug of coffee and once more had his StarkPad on. His fingers caressed the screen as he scrolled through whatever it was he was reading. An empty plate littered with crumbs and a scrap of egg had been pushed to the center of the table so that Phil had space to lean his StarkPad on its stand and read it clearly without having to abandon his coffee to support it with his other hand.

They greeted each other, and as Clint passed behind Phil to get to the coffee pot, Clint pressed a kiss to Phil's cheek. If it wasn’t for the memory of their conversation the night before, everything would have seemed normal. Yet Clint was still aware of the thrum of uncertainty through his veins. Even a reasonably good night of sleep hadn’t been enough to dampen the feeling.

"Don't even think of drinking that straight from the pot," Phil gently reprimanded as Clint pulled back from the kiss; the scratch of Phil’s stubble tickled Clint’s lips. A couple of seconds later and the pot would have been halfway up to Clint’s mouth. They both knew it.

With a sigh, Clint opened the cupboard that housed their mismatched mugs and assorted glasses, a strange collection that detailed places visited and freebies snagged, and took one of the larger ones out. He filled it to the brim with the pungent liquid and swallowed half before he sat down across from Phil. There was a box of cereal on the table and Clint picked it up.

"What are you reading?" Clint asked curiously as he shoved a handful of dry cereal into his mouth. "You couldn't wait until you got to the office?"

Phil swiped his finger across the screen and highlighted a block of text in green to accompany the yellow already picking out other sentences on the page before he looked up at Clint. He didn't look as tired as the night before, but Phil still didn't appear to be as well rested as he could have. His foot slid under the table so that his sock covered toe could run along the arch of Clint's foot. The soft fabric tickled Clint, his foot twitched at the sensation, but he didn’t pull away from the contact.

"It's not for SHIELD," Phil told him, turning the StarkPad around so that Clint could take it and look it over for himself.

It wasn't what he had been expecting. Clint had gotten so used to Phil always checking work emails or thinking up something for SHIELD that he just had to read up on or jot down that Phil using his StarkPad for recreational use was a surprising occurrence. Phil had seemingly spent his time downloading and looking up anything and everything he could on dominant and submissive relationships.

Clint thumbed through the web pages and books to see what had caught Phil's interest and attempted to discover the pattern behind the color coding. When Clint looked up, Phil was watching him patiently.

"Learned anything interesting?" Clint inquired casually.

He sipped his coffee and ignored the way his heart rate sped up. Whether in fear to excitement, he couldn't tell. The slight flutter in his stomach didn't provide much insight either way. Phil was looking into this. Phil wasn't running away.

"Mainly just expanding on what little I already knew. Turns out that not all of what I learned elsewhere was as accurate as it could have been."

Clint nodded. He was used to people having misconceptions about what being a submissive actually meant, what a relationship could actually be like.

"And?"

"And I want to talk it over. I'm not saying no."


	2. Chapter 2

The call to assemble blared. It echoed around the room. Loud and shrill like a startled bird, it spurred Clint into action. He downed his coffee and dropped the mug on the table next to Phil's forgotten plate. It was a mad dash to get suited up and his anxiety was soon replaced with the familiar, fierce rush of adrenaline. The apprehension that had been plaguing his mind was temporarily driven into hiding by more pressing concerns.

Phil spoke in Clint's ear, all of their ears, the entire time. He kept Clint anchored as he always did. Clint's world narrowed to the soothing calm of Phil's voice and the repetitive nock, draw and release of his arrows. He hit every target. Perfectly.

Back at Avengers Tower, battle sore and weary, Clint collapsed in a dusty heap on one of the couches in the common area. The other Avengers followed suit, albeit with more grace and care for the furniture. Well, all except for Tony who wandered off and ordered in take-out (rather, he got Jarvis to order in take-out and he started removing the superficial dents from his armor in the sanctuary of his workshop). However, like a bloodhound scenting a trail, Tony surfaced the moment the pizza arrived. He was oil-covered and softer around the edges, as though the removal of his armor had also taken away his brashness. At least that appeared the case until he insinuated himself between Clint and the arm of the couch. Clint just took it as an invitation to lean on Tony, so sat with his back propped against Tony's side and his legs spread out carelessly over the couch.

Just as Clint picked up his second slice of pizza, he noticed Phil slip into the room. He was dressed in a pair of his black work slacks, but instead of a full suit just had on a plain blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top few buttons undone so that the slightest bit of dark chest fuzz could be seen. Clint licked his lips unconsciously, catching a stray, tangy bit of tomato sauce on his tongue as he did. Phil smiled at him, and it was as though the rest of the Avengers faded away. Their chatter died and Clint could have sworn Phil was the only other person in the room. At least until Tony nudged him with his elbow.

"Scoot over so Agent can have a seat, Barton. Where are your manners?" Tony grinned at Clint before grabbing the piece of pizza from Clint's plate (Steve insisted on using them even though it was _pizza_ and rolling it in half before taking a large bite.

"Apparently they're wherever you left yours. If you ever had any," Clint grouched good-naturedly as he sat up and swung his legs around to rest his feet on the floor so that Phil could take a seat next to him.

"Actually, I wasn't planning on intruding." Phil held up his hand as Steve started to protest that he would be in no way encroaching on something he shouldn't. "I know you don't mind me joining you on occasion, but I was really just hoping to steal Clint away if you don't mind?" He looked at Clint as he asked. There was a soft, questioning light in his eyes.

"Sure thing, boss," Clint said hopping up.

Suddenly food was the last thing on his mind and all of his pre-mission feelings started to make themselves known again. His palms felt moist, but he smiled anyway. Even if he knew Phil would likely see through it. Natasha would too. She looked at him inquiringly as he glanced in her direction and he shook his head minutely. Nothing was _wrong_.

Tony groaned and leaned his head against the couch cushion with a pained look on his face. "I miss 'I'm glad you're alive' sex."

"Tony!" Steve scolded.

"What? It's what they're going off to do. You should try it sometime, Cap." Tony turned to look at Phil. "You two must have twice the amount of 'I'm glad you're alive' sex with both of you always in danger. It's hot, right? Tell Captain Purity that you're having it and it's hot and I'm not just talking out of my ass."

Phil sighed and Clint could tell he was only one more Tony comment away from getting frustrated. "Yes, Stark. We're going to go and have lots of 'I'm glad you're alive' sex and considering I'm sleeping with the greatest marksman on Earth, it's going to not only be hot, but pretty damn amazing."

"Exactly my point!" Tony crowed triumphantly. "Jarvis even has it recorded should you forget it, Stevie-boy. It's the best sex. Desperate and-"

"I get it, Tony," Steve cut in.

Clint didn't say anything far too aware of just how long Tony's taunting of Steve could go on for if people kept providing more fuel for his arguments. However, he did watch Tony and how, after he'd stopped celebrating his win, his eyes drifted over to settle fixedly on Bruce who was studiously picking olives off his piece of pizza and avoiding Tony's gaze.

"I just don't think that Pepper-"

"Who said anything about Pepper? I certainly didn't!"

When Clint turned to face Phil once more, Phil inclined his head towards the elevator that would allow them to make their escape, and Clint readily agreed. It was time to leave them to it. Or at least it was time to leave after he'd piled a stack of pizza on his plate and passed it over neatly to Phil as he got to him.

With Tony distracted enough that he didn't notice them slipping away, they managed to avoid further comments on their sex life, or at least, if he did continue along that vein, they were out of earshot when he did. Still, as soon as the doors slid closed and Clint felt safely enclosed in relative silence of the lift, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He closed his eyes, counted to three and when he opened them again, mindful of the plate in Phil hand, grasped a handful of Phil's shirt and pulled him closer until their mouths came together. Adrenaline from the mission still present and the flash of nerves from what was to come spurred him on. Phil's free arm wrapped around Clint's waist, a comforting warmth and weight as he pulled them closer and Clint's own free hand gripped at the back of Phil's neck. Clint wanted to climb inside Phil, have Phil climb inside him. He didn't care either way. He just wanted them to be closer.

"We have arrived at your floor," Jarvis' voice startled them apart and only Phil's quick reflexes stopped them from dropping the food. "Sir would also like me to inform you that should you wish to add to his collection of," Clint swore that the AI actually paused due to some sort of computer embarrassment, it wasn't like anything Stark made could crash, "adult videos, then by all means, you can remain in the lift."

Clint laughed as Phil attempted to neaten up his now untucked shirt.

"Thank you, Jarvis. I think we'll have to decline his generous offer though."

They moved out through the open door. Suddenly a lot less sure of himself, Clint dropped behind Phil by a fraction of a step letting the other man lead. The morning before they had to dash off and be heroes had left him with a sense of excitement that it wasn't going to be a definite "no" straight out of the gate, but also wariness that Phil could find out more and decide Clint wasn't what he wanted after all. Clint knew if Phil even thought for a fraction of a second that he wasn't what Clint wanted that he'd bow out no questions asked, and Clint knew that he had to make Phil understand that no matter what was decided Phil would _always_ rank above anything sexual Clint could be getting fulfilled elsewhere should he have wanted to.

Once Phil had placed the pizza in the fridge - a sure sign that they would not be getting around to eating anytime soon - Clint waited expectantly for Phil to say something, or Phil to start and get the ball rolling. Phil was always the one to start something; to give the direction. It was always how it had been between them, and after a moment of silence and Phil looking at him expectantly, Clint realized that Phil was letting Clint decide what was going to happen next.

"We could have sex and then talk," Clint suggested. His body still on high alert and the thought of sitting down and talking things over would get in the way of getting Phil naked. Or at least it would most certainly postpone it and right now all Clint wanted was the feel of Phil's skin against his fingertips.

"Or talk and then have sex," Phil countered. His hands rested on his hips as he looked challengingly at Clint. "We haven't even talked about safe words."

"Phil, we will talk absolutely everything through, I promise, but right now I just want to blow your mind and have some regular, old, vanilla sex like we always do. I am excited that you want to talk about this, but right now I don't think I can keep my hands off you long enough to have the talk we need to have. If you don't want to have sex until we talk it through, then we'll wait."

It might kill him, but Clint could wait.

"I'd rather talk it through now. Some of it anyway. Then we can get started on seeing just how compatible we are with this," Phil said with some hesitation and there was that brow wrinkle again. Clint was starting to not like the look of that. The last thing he wanted was to cause Phil more stress.

It took Clint a moment, but then he realized: Phil was concerned. Phil was worried and Clint was an idiot. The concern wasn't just that Phil wanted to understand, it was that he wanted to make sure that they could still be them. That this wasn't going to shatter what they'd built as though it was some flimsy house of cards held together by luck, hope and an extremely careful balancing act.

Clint could have kicked himself. For once he was the one who knew everything. Or at least the one who knew the most of the two of them. He was used to being the one who had eyes on everything, but with Phil's careful voice in his ear to guide him. That had always been the status quo with their relationship. Phil was the one with the knowledge and Clint followed his lead. Now, it was as though Phil only had glimpses of books from a distance and Clint held the key to the library.

Phil was uncertain. Clint wasn't just an idiot. He was an ass.

Clint sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs and put his head in his hands. Elbows resting against the hard, cold table and one of his arms knocking the fork on Phil's breakfast plate so that it clattered in the ominous silence.

"I'm fucking this up already, aren't I?" he asked the air.

Phil's hand curled around Clint's bare biceps. It was warm and comforting, but Clint kept his head bowed in his hands.

"How are you supposed to trust me if I can't even get this part right?"

"I already do trust you, you idiot," Phil chided mildly. His hand slipped around to soothe over Clint's back. "But I'm in the dark here. I'd rather shed enough light to know what's going on before closing the door behind me."

"I just wanted to have our usual 'glad you're alive fuck'," Clint mumbled as he pulled his head away from his hands and looked up at Phil. "I know we started to talk about this, this morning, but right now, there's far too much to talk about before I'd even want to consider starting shaking things up. Long conversations. Lots of planning. You can even spreadsheet stuff if you want. In no way was I just going to take you to bed and expect everything to be different."

Phil nodded. He looked calmer. At least the frown had disappeared.

"If you thought I would just do that, then maybe we shouldn't," Clint continued. "If you can't trust me with only doing what you're comfortable with..." he trailed off.

"It's not that. Not really. I'm just not sure what to expect. I'm not sure I can give up that much control."

"Which is why we're going to talk about it. You want to do this now? We'll do it now and I won't even bring up having sex again until we're done."

"Okay. Okay," Phil repeated.

Clint pushed the chair backwards; it scraped across the floor loudly. He pulled Phil too him and nuzzled at Phil's neck.

"You know the real secret of it all though?" he whispered against Phil's skin. "The sub has all the power. You'll be able to stop me if I put a finger out of line, with one word, if I do a single thing that you're not comfortable with. I have to trust you to let me know. You have to trust me to stop. That’s what it really comes down to," Clint told him quietly. He didn't raise his voice above a whisper in fear of ruining the moment. "I know I didn't do such a good job of that today."

"Clint?" Phil asked, and brought his arms up around Clint's waist making Clint realize he was likely getting all sorts of crap over Phil's clothes holding him like this, but Phil didn't seem to care.

"Yeah?"

"You did stop for me."


End file.
